Curiosity Satisfied, Me Dead
by Dissimilis
Summary: Riddle loved blood and sweets. He had never experienced permanent death. He really wished he wasn't so curious. OCC Riddle's life and death.


**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**South Park**_**. **

Curiosity Satisfied, Me Dead (8/7/12)

He could never refer himself to 'Tom' even if he wanted too. That was his father, some poor bastard he never knew. When he heard the story of his parents, his first thought was, "My mother raped my dad? Is that possible?" and left it at that. The more he thought about his biological family, the more messed up he thought of them. He tried not to think about them, but soon found it impossible to avoid. His thoughts kept going back to them.

He took a blood test... What found wasn't flattering _at all_.

His grandmother was a... to put it kindly, a _sex addict_. What showed up on the blood test was this; his mother and father were half- siblings. His mother was from Tom's father. Riddle had heard of this happening, siblings who didn't know they were related fall in love when they meet. For some reason, he was reminded of a duck who imprinted.

Moving on, he tried finding the symptoms of children born from incest, but found nothing. All they seemed to want to talk about was that is considered abuse. He preformed a diagnoses on himself and found that he was sterile. Go figure. His family on his mother's side had a habit of fucking their _extremely_ close family members that if new genes were introduced, it made Riddle.

Well, at least he could have unprotected sex without worrying about a child, just STDs.

He never told anyone at school about his experiments. On himself or others. It was interesting watching them twitch after a intense session... He practically drooled at the thought of his latest victim. She had been a feisty one, that gal. So much blood poured out onto the table and spilled to the floor. She died crying. Crying so much...

Tears... He supposed that had been one of his defects. He never cried, not has a child when his favorite stuff bear was stole (he still had that, in the bottom of a trunk) or has a baby, according to the matrons. But they had a habit of lying to him, so he couldn't be sure on that either. Why did everyone hate him in that orphanage? They told his treasures and lied to him. Was it because he was defected?

No, it was because he was 'the devil's child'. Therefore, he didn't deserve to exist. Riddle wondered what the 'next life' was like. Would he forget being Riddle? He quite liked himself just the way he is. But he was a little too curious about the next life. He wanted to see if he had previous lives too. What language would he speak? Was he the good guy, bad guy or just the minion? The insignificant? The sheep?

To stop himself from wasting this life just for a stupid curiosity, he created his Horcruxes. And no, it did not make him a whore. Riddle wanted to know the moron who named it and Crucio him. He hid his treasure all over the world, so no one would find them. Of course Dumbledore would find them. He hid one in a safe place, where he lived. Hogwarts. He wondered how the ghost of Ravenclaw was doing. He'd never seen a ghost withering in agony.

He'd never checked up on his treasures, sure he would feel if they were damaged. So, when he felt jolts of pain in his chest area, he naturally came to the conclusion that the brat and his sidekicks were hunting his Horcruxes. Those little _bitches_. He was feeling more and more like the old man he denied himself to be.

His bodies were falling apart. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel, with a dramatic flare. Lord Voldemort nor Riddle would never go down passively. He wanted his final death to be glorious and filled with blood. He vaguely recalled fighting for a purpose, but everyone that stood by his side so long ago were either dead, old or insane. It was logical that they would realize they were _used_ for Riddle's amusement in school.

They hated him for his name and bullied him. Riddle hadn't forgiven them when they realized he was the Heir of Slytherin. He still stated he was the Heir, just to feel younger. He was actually the Lord. He took some of them to his vault and splattered the wall red with their blood. Remembering it made hysterical giggles come out of Riddle's throat. He had so much fun tossing them around like toys in his 'room'. The goblins were not amused.

His first kill had been when he was nine. He pushed his pedophile psychologist in front of a train when he became a little _too_ touchy. That was the same year those soldiers... Was that the reason he had gone to the pedophile? He couldn't remember... How strange.

No, no. He hadn't gone to the pedophile because of the drunkards. It was because he was found in a ditch covered in blood. It was his blood, from a old wound that tore open in a fight. He was licking his hand and pressing the wound to get more blood out. Ugh, he was in a _ditch_ and acting like a vampire. Ew. Just... Ew.

He remembered his fifth year. The year he helped the crying girl in her suicide. She was boring. All that happened was she got cold. Nothing more. Sure, she was dead, but she was _boring_ dead. Riddle discovered he loved the bloodier and messier deaths after that. He only used the Killing Curse for more annoying issues. Like Potter. And the fact he didn't like shopping for clothes. In war, your clothes got messy, he learned. He liked cosplay, but shopping for _mundane_ clothing pissed him off.

Potter was someone who never learned how to die. Riddle had died at least seven time now, but at least he went down for a little while! This kid just kept getting back up and fighting over and over! He had the honor of letting Riddle take his blood, and it tasted bloody fantastic! The spark of... whatever that was tasted like vanilla ice cream! And velvet cake. Riddle wanted more, but they were immortal enemies, and he had never had friend- enemies. Frienemies. He had heard the word from some muggle teens on the streets.

His only friend he liked was Mister Dracula, and he was a stuffed bear who couldn't talk. He liked his spinning top, but that was a dangerous toy who cut off some of his minion's heads when some idiot decided it was a good idea to take stuff from Lord Voldemort's secret trunk. Hey, he was attached to his small childhood treasures. He was sure it was in some psych evaluation; 'If a child has no one to look up to for guidance, they will look for replacements'. Riddle's replacements were his toys and books.

He wanted Potter's blood more than ever. Maybe he should make Potter a toy? No, a pet was enough for him. Nagini would get jealous. But still, his _blood_. He licked his lips and whimpered. It was the _best_ taste in the world! Way better than real vanilla or cake. He wanted _more_. He was never one to deny what he wanted. What he wanted, he got. Even if it was a really stupid want.

Another whimper rose and he buried himself further into his pillow. He crushed the pillow he was snuggling into and whimpered again has he felt his fangs pierce his skin, making blood stain the white pillow. He felt like the time he refused to quit smoking and eventually was forced to stop. His addiction was affecting his experiments. And it was affecting him _now_. He rocked back and forth. He came to a conclusion.

He was utterly miserable.

Maybe he could spill Potter's blood on the battle field.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

...The fuck? Potter- Harry Potter, Chosen One, Whatever the Fuck He Wants To Be Called- just came here, on his orders, and was basically showing his belly.

Lord Voldemort was not pleased. Where the hell was the defiance? The anger? The _bloodlust_? Fuck, he was has boring has the suicide girl (he really should remember her name, he helped her after all). This was... _disappointing_. His glorious death wouldn't be so glorious without the knight who would kill the evil sorcerer.

He threw a Killing Curse at the boy. He would have tortured the boy had he not been paranoid of the Light's minions coming out of the bushes. Why was his curse white anyway? Was it because he didn't hate the boy? Not has much has he hated the world in general?

The world went white, and he helpless. He cried out, hoping someone could hear him. He shouldn't have done that. His followers would catch on. He was _weak_.

He heard a thud. He wanted to move. Why couldn't he move? It wasn't fair! He hadn't done anything to injure himself. Unless it was a traitor Death Eater. He let Nagi kill Snape because he liked the Potions Master when they weren't talking to each other. It was humorous to watch him gripe at everyone around him. He was still tortured has he died. Slowly.

"You cannot help." _Oh_, that voice. Riddle hated that voice. He didn't like it. He wanted away. "Harry." Potter was here? He wanted his blood. He was _starving_! He also wanted to cry. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk." Walk? Away? Fine by him. He didn't want help from a old geezer or a little punk. See if he cared.

But he _did_ care. He began whimpering again. It felt like he had been burned all over. He didn't like it. He wanted the pain to stop. Why couldn't he breath? His chest hurt if he took a deep breath, but that's all he could do. He wanted someone to come back. He didn't care who! He didn't care if it was his mortal enemies. He wanted someone to _care_.

So much agony. He was a sadist with a small masochist streak. He hurt all over. And not in a good way. He whimpered louder and rocked back and forth, avoiding the more pained areas. Was this what it felt like to be broken? No, it was much worse. Tom would be here if Riddle were broken. Tom was the scary one. Compared to Voldemort, Tom scared Riddle.

He was the broken toy. The scary, broken one. Riddle had always been afraid of him. He never wanted to see him again. The boggart that was Tom. The scary, broken child. The corpse. The scary, smiling corpse. Riddle whimpered again. Naming that boy after his father was confusing, but it helped Riddle with his nightmares.

He felt skin on his. Smooth yet rough. He wanted to open his eyes and look at him, but they hurt too much. Perhaps he was just scared to see who it was. He probably was. He didn't want to stay there any longer.

Voldemort opened his eyes, finding himself staring at the darkened sky and a worried Lestrange. He shoved her away, disgusted with her and himself. He could hear Potter still breathing, which he was glad for. His bloody death was coming soon, and he would enjoy it.

They walked to Hogwarts, Riddle snickering over Potter's horrible acting skills inside his head. Pretending to be dead is harder than it looks. Riddle knew, since he had to stay perfectly still for some stuff. It was hilarious watching Potter give it a shot.

His death came quickly, even though it didn't seem that way to others. His body fell apart more quickly than his last. His soul was in one piece again. Like the riddle he was, he was completed. He could only hope his immortal enemy didn't see the smile on his face has he died. And the spoon and fork in his pocket rotted with him. You never know when you need a spoon and fork.

He found himself staring at the large feet of a Olympian. He stared up and saw the beard. "Weak, dude. Just weak." And cliche. Looking at the boots again, he wondered if these guys would ever go in style. Sure it was sexy in a costume party, but everyday? Horrible.

"You have been judged," one of them boomed. Giants. Never learning how to tone it down.

"Of _course_ I have," Riddle replied, flatly and mockingly at the same time. He killed, tortured and carried spoons and forks around. Of course he was judged. He had fun carving the eyeballs out of people's heads with his spoon... He missed his knives. They were lost somewhere during the first war he started. He _liked_ those knives.

"You are to be reincarnated with all your memories intact. You will be named Kenneth McCormick of South Park. Good luck." Riddle wanted to ask why he needed to be informed of that when he felt like he was falling off a high building. He landed, feeling like a mouse.

His muffled screams could be heard inside his mother's body. "Son of a bitch!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The whole story was for the last part. Tommy boy Kenny. I had a dream of Kenny suddenly switching off with Tommy and dying. I love sleeping sometimes. All this was created in one day.


End file.
